


Core

by ThinkingCAPSLOCK



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Character Study, Drabble, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-26
Updated: 2014-06-26
Packaged: 2018-02-06 06:35:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 542
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1848061
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThinkingCAPSLOCK/pseuds/ThinkingCAPSLOCK
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It isn't about being flexible or unshakable. It's something more.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Core

The very first time he dives to save the ball, he feels the pull.

It's more than the weight of his shoulders skidding into the gym floor. More than the cheer from his teammates and classmates as the ball soars back up in an arc. It catches his attention more than his scraped knees or ringing ears or sweat-covered brow. 

Nishinoya finds he has to catch his breath. He also finds he can't stop smiling.

Once he notices the tug in his chest, he wonders if it's always been there. He feels it when he praises his friends. He feels it when he balances on the railing. He feels it when he runs the final block home.

Most of all, though, he feels it on the court. 

The more he plays, the stronger it gets. A centering tug, a faint pressure deep inside him that heats his blood and lights his eyes. The feeling of the earth reaching inside him, coursing through his body, holding him up. It keeps his elbows in position and his mind sharp. It loosens his legs and softens the sting of the sharp floor as he dives, over and over.

It keeps him driven to talk to his teammates and it's what makes him get up each time, each practice, and demand another serve. It's what keeps him unmoving in the face of a ball hurtling towards him just a bit too fast to be safe. 

It's what keeps him grinning as the ball gets closer.

He decides, as his arms burn with bruises and his feet ache with the shuffle of a match, that the tug, the rooting, the creeping through his body, has always been there. It can't be anything else other than a deep, permanent part of him. He can't think of a way to be without it.

After all, Nishinoya knows he's always been sturdy. He keeps a steady pace walking, talking, working. He doesn't feel the rattling in his mind when faced with mistakes any more than he feels the skids and bruises. When he misses, the pull shoots through his body, tightens his core, and sets his jaw. Solidifies the need for a next time, the demand for another try. The refusal of failure.

The pull keeps his face and smile and arms steady. Prepped to move. Prepped to slide forward or dodge left or meet the serve or recover the ball when it's just barely inside the line. Prepped to grin over at the other team and tell them off he echoes Tanaka's voice and cries.

It's that closeness, the energy spreading up his legs to the tips of his fingers, that firmness deep down that keeps him in position or lifts him off the floor. The force that roots him and moves him. He feels it so strongly on the court as he sets his feet down, balancing on the balls of his feet, waiting to shift or anchor down, lips twitching to call out to his teammates. 

The tug, the pull, the burning fire and weighted core is about more than movement and strength. When he feels the power, when the ball comes into play, Nishinoya knows he isn't just agile or sturdy or clever. 

He is unyielding.


End file.
